Perfect
by Redtail53
Summary: "John sat on his bed looking down at the crisp, white paper. 'Congratulations' it said, as if it was a good thing." Secrets-verse, pre-series one shot based off the song Perfect by Simple Plan.


_**A/N:**_ Beta'd by the wonderful KeianaLunae.

* * *

 **PERFECT**

 **February 17th, 1989**

John frowned in deep concentration as he glued a piece in its place on his newest model. It was an SR-71 Blackbird, and by far one of the coolest planes ever made; one of John's favorites. He'd saved his allowance to buy the kit - knowing full well his father wouldn't buy it for him, even if he did ask (which he wasn't going to do anyway). John didn't really spend his money on a whole lot of things besides models. He had two already hanging from the ceiling, and he was thinking this one would look best suspended alongside the F-16 Fighting Falcon already up there.

He paused in his work to look up at the Falcon, and took a quick guess at the amount of space the Blackbird would need to hang safely. He'd need some to get some fishing line and ceiling hooks from the garage once he finished. He took a breath and started to place the last few pieces on. When that was done, all that was left was to let the glue dry and then put the decals on. Then he could put it in its rightful place of honor.

John sat back in his chair to examine his handiwork, and he smiled broadly. Yep, a very cool aircraft. He couldn't wait to see one of those things from the inside. Sure, he'd seen one at the Smithsonian, but the Do Not Touch signs kinda ruined the moment for him. It was nice to look at these aircraft that had captured his heart, but it was another thing to fly them.

And he would.  
No matter what his father said.

His father had his life planned for him already. He'd go to Harvard, cause 'no son of his would go to another school.' He'd take business classes and learn accounting (which was easy, by the way) among other business related things that John really had no interest in. Then, John would take his place at his father's side in the business. Minson Utilities: the foremost utilities company in the US. And John would earn lots of money and secure a future for him and his (future) family.

 _Yay_.

John was glad that Dave truly enjoyed his father's work. He was happy for him, as any older brother would be. But that sort of thing… it just wasn't John. He'd rather be surfing, or skateboarding, or playing football. But really, above all else: he'd rather be flying.

He knew that his father would never help him to get private lessons, and anyway, John didn't want to be under his father's shadow for much longer - even if he did get his dream the _easy_ way. No, John was determined to _prove_ that he was worth something more than being a paper pushing businessman. John looked long and hard at the military aircraft around his room. Two, now three, fixed wing craft, and a single remote controlled helicopter. Not mentioning the several posters of various aircraft flying in formation. He'd looked up dozens of different ways to get a pilot's license, but none of them spoke to him. That, and none of them would let him fly jets and other extremely fast, and cool aircraft.

Except one.  
And John would do it, even knowing his father would hate him for it.

John forced the bitterness and sense of impending doom away by shifting his focus back to the Blackbird as he headed down the stairs. He passed through the kitchen to find a servant toiling away and cleaning. She smiled when she saw him enter, "Good afternoon, young Mr. John."  
"Er…" John paused mid step to look at the new-ish maid. What was her name? Rae, Rain... Raisa? That was it, "It's just 'John', Raisa."  
She nodded and John saw a plate of fresh-baked cookies on the island, "You make those?"  
" _Sí,_ sir-" John narrowed his eyes at her. "I mean John," she finished.  
He flashed her a bright smile and raised a couple cookies in a mock salute, " _Gracias_ , Raisa." John finished off his last cookie as he passed the front door, and saw his mother going through the mail. "Anything for me, Mom?"

Laura Sheppard turned to her eldest son, and held an envelope out to him, "It's from Stanford," she said softly. John bit his bottom lip, and opened the letter to read the inside. He felt excitement bubble up in his chest, and he smiled broadly. "I got in," he whispered, forgetting his mom was there. He looked up and smiled at his mom, who was smiling back.

"I got in!"  
Laura enveloped him in a crushing hug, and John returned it happily. He didn't expect to get into Stanford, granted since it was the only college he applied to, he'd hoped beyond hope. His smile faded and his mood dropped like a stone. His mother, who always seemed to know the moods of her sons, seemed to sense the change in John. She held him away from her to look at his face, "John…"  
"He'll never let me go."

* * *

Laura took in the appearance of her son - the drooped shoulders, eyes to the floor; even his hair - normally wild and untamed, looked downtrodden. "He'll never let me go." And her heart broke for him.  
"John," she lifted his head with a finger under his chin, "Your father only wants the best for you…"

John frowned slightly. "What if he doesn't know what's best for me?" He asked bitterly.  
She smiled softly, "You don't always either." She moved a lock of raven hair out of his eyes, "I know I can't stop you, John. I know where your heart lies, and it isn't on the ground with the rest of us."

He'd always had his eyes turned toward the sky. Ever since he was tiny, he'd watched the birds wheel in the sky. From the smallest sparrow, to the ravens and hawks. Then they'd taken him on his first flight on the company plane when he was three. He'd done nothing but look out the window, amazed at the height and the feel of flight. When he was seven he'd heard about a local air show and begged and pleaded for days to go. Finally (with Laura's help) Patrick had agreed. That was the moment that Laura knew her son was not destined to be behind a desk.

"I want to fly," he'd declared. Her husband had only laughed, and said, "Nonsense, son. You're going to be by my side, and help with the business." Laura felt her son's heart break.

His destiny was in the sky, and Laura knew he'd get there with or without his parents support. She only feared the means. Her fear was if Patrick drove him away, that he'd turn to methods that were… less than safe to achieve his dream.

Patrick however… she knew that Patrick only wanted him to be safe. She knew how much he loved their sons. Patrick wanted to keep them safe by keeping them close. If anyone was to even suspect the truth….

It was something Laura herself did not want to think about. But she knew that forcing John to remain would only cost them something much greater.

John's face sank again, "I'm gonna need to tell him, aren't I?"  
"Yes," she answered softly. "He'll find out one way or another. It should be from you." John nodded solemnly. She watched as he silently walked away with the envelope in hand. Laura followed only to watch him climb the steps back to his room. She knew that Patrick would panic, and that panic would present itself as anger. John would see that anger as his father only trying to control him, and not understanding him. Laura knew that, in reality, John and his father were very much alike; both were stubborn and single minded.

It was more than that though. Patrick had tried very hard to forget his former life. He figured it was the best way to protect themselves. Laura didn't agree, but she supported him nonetheless. It didn't mean that she had forgotten. She feared they were all that remained… that legacy shouldn't be forgotten. But Patrick feared the discovery of that legacy, and if Laura was honest, she did too.

She only hoped this would not cost them a son. That both John and his father could accept each for who they were, and celebrate it.

"Is everything alright, Señora?" Raisa's soft voice shook Laura from her thoughts.  
"Oh, yes, Raisa. Thank you."

* * *

"I did good today. Right, Dad?"  
Patrick chuckled and reached over to ruffle his youngest son's dark hair, "Yes, Dave. You did well." The boy beamed as Patrick returned his hand to the steering wheel. "Thank you for your help today, son," the older man said sincerely. Dave waved his hand and looked out the window, "No, prob, Dad."

He felt a sharp pain in his chest, but it wasn't brought on by anything physical. What Dave had just done, that gesture, the words… just like something his older brother would do and say.

" _Thanks, Johnny."  
_ " _No prob, Davey."_

It had been years since those words had been directed at Patrick himself, not since John was Dave's age. Shortly after John turned 13, and Patrick had decided it was time for John to start taking more interest in the company… well, John had been drifting farther, and farther away. Patrick knew he needed to fix things before he lost his oldest forever, but, damnit, the boy was so difficult, and stubborn.

He forced the tension to ease from his frame and he took a quick glance at his youngest boy. While John was untameable and all energy, Dave was his polar opposite. They got along well, and John was a good big brother; but Patrick often wished they were more alike. And by that, he meant more like Dave.

John didn't want to run the company.  
The company was a safe life, and Patrick was determined to make sure his sons were safe from all harm.

The car had barely stopped before Dave was out and running to the front door, excited to tell his mother all the things he'd learned and helped his father with today. Patrick followed at a much slower pace. Laura was there, listening to their youngest son talk. She was smiling, and Patrick stopped to take in the scene. He smiled as he remembered when he'd first seen Laura, so many years ago.

He shook his head to clear the ancient memories out. Remembering was dangerous, remembering the truth might mean you forget the false history. And they've had close calls before….

His wife told Dave something, and he grinned and nearly skipped away. Patrick came up to his wife, and greeted her with a hug and a kiss. "How was your day?"  
"Good." She answered, but Patrick sensed something else.  
"But?" He prompted.  
"John needs to talk to you."

Patrick felt apprehension settle in his chest.  
Laura stepped out of his arms, but before she entered the house again, she turned to him, "He only needs you to listen to him, Patrick." And she left him standing by himself outside the door feeling more anxious than he was comfortable with.

* * *

John sat on his bed looking down at the crisp, white paper. 'Congratulations' it said, as if it was a good thing. Which it was, especially since he had left it until the last possible moment to apply. He was happy he got into the school of _his_ choice, but it meant he'd finally need to deal with his father, and John was too tired of fighting. He hated it. He hated that they couldn't seem to get along with each other.

He heard the high pitch squeal of brakes and an engine shut off, and John sighed deeply. Dad was home, and like usual, John was very conflicted about his father's presence. Too soon, John would be forced to interact with his father on some level and John wasn't sure how to do that without it all blowing up in his face.

His earliest memories were of his father. He was three… maybe four. He wanted to do everything with his dad. Hell, he even wanted to go to the office with him, just to be with his father. But now… now John avoided him. He didn't mean to, but every time they spoke, John always left the room angry and depressed. He loved his father, he did. He just didn't know him anymore.

John pushed the thoughts of his father away. He thought instead of how he was going to get to California. He had enough money saved up to get a plane ticket, but after that food and shelter would be a problem. And he really had no idea how much he would need money-wise. He'd never had to buy groceries, or cook. His father's chef had handled all that. Getting there was actually the easy part, it was surviving while he was studying that would be the big problem. He would need a plan, that much he knew for sure. Fortunately he still had a good 6 weeks of summer left before the first semester started, and he could definitely use that to earn some cash.

John heard footsteps quickly ascending the stairs and Dave just barely stopped on the threshold of his room. John smiled at his little brother and set the letter aside for now. "Hey, Davey. How was the office?"  
Dave came into his room and jumped on the bed, "It was cool! I got to help Dad with all kinds of things."  
"Yeah?"  
Dave's head bobbed, "Yup. When I'm big, I'm gonna work with Dad." Dave paused, "Are you gonna work with Dad, too?"  
John flinched slightly, "Nah. I don't think so, Dave."

The young boy looked confused, "Then what are you going to do?"  
"Something."  
"Dad always says-"  
"I know what Dad always says, Dave." John snapped, "He _always_ says it." He looked at his brother and saw the hurt look on his face, and what irritation he was feeling evaporated. "Crap. I'm sorry, Dave."  
"Why don't you and Dad like each other anymore? Mom said you and Dad used to get along."  
John sighed heavily, "I don't know."

A knock on his door had him looking up at Raisa, "Your father wants to see you in his study." John huffed. It was just like him to send someone to tell him to come to him instead of coming to see him, himself. "Thanks," he said, and she left the doorway.

John looked over at the Blackbird. The glue wouldn't be dry for a few more hours yet, and he still had the decals to place. He didn't have the motivation to do it right now. He sighed again and stood up. "Don't touch any of my stuff." Dave said he wouldn't, and John knew he would keep his word. He had a strict 'look but don't touch' policy in his room.

His steps felt heavy, like his shoes were made of lead. He wasn't looking forward to this. He caught his mother's eye as he turned down the hall that would take him to his father's study, and she smiled hopefully at him. John's hopes of this going well weren't terribly high, and he was fully prepared to leave the room angry.

He knocked on the door and he heard his father's voice telling him to enter. He took a deep breath and turned the knob. The study was a room that was firmly off limits to both John and his brother unless they were invited. Being invited to their father's study evoked different feelings for each boy. For Dave, it was a mostly good thing, cause Dave loved to do anything that had to do with the company. For John, though… a deep sensation of dread always enveloped him. Invitations to Patrick's study were not usually a good thing.

"Your mother said you needed to speak with me." John tried to recall if interactions between them had always been this… formal.  
"Yeah… I got a letter from the University today."  
John saw his father's eyes light up ever so slightly, "And?"  
"I got in."

John winced when he saw how happy his father was, and John was about to crush him. "Oh, John, you're going to excel at Harvard. You made sure to apply for the classes I told you to, right?"  
"Uh, Dad." John bit his lower lip, "I didn't apply to Harvard."  
"...What?" John took a step back when his father advanced toward him, "We agreed on you going to Harvard, John."  
"No. You agreed with yourself. I'm not going to Harvard, Dad." He saw his father take a breath, and he folded his arms across his chest.  
"John. You are going to Harvard."  
"Aren't you listening?!" John nearly shouted, "I'm _not_ going to Harvard. I don't want to study business."  
"Fine. You don't want to work in the business. There are other courses at Harvard, John."  
"This isn't even about the courses, Dad!"  
"Then what is it, John?!" John froze, not expecting the question. He knew why he applied to Stanford instead: to get out from under his father's shadow. To be his own person instead of the person his father wants him to be. To make his own choices.

Patrick didn't give him long enough to answer before he spoke again, "Where did you apply?"  
John swallowed, "Stanford."  
"California…?"  
"That's where Stanford is, Dad." John didn't really know how to describe the look that crossed his father's face. He looked almost… afraid. That confused John greatly. What was he afraid of?

"What are you planning on studying?" Patrick's tone was dead, cold, clinical.  
"Computational science and mathematical engineering. I'll be studying engineering, programming, applied mathematics, and other applied sciences. I plan to be done in 3 years."  
"And after?"

John flinched visibly. He hadn't even told his mom about how he planned to get his wings. "I'm going to be a pilot. Like _I_ always planned."  
John stood his ground when his father walked closer, "How, John?"  
"The Air Force." The air in the room seemed to disappear and Patrick just stood there, looking at John like he'd just grown another head. But soon enough, the reaction John expected came and Patrick exploded.

They shouted back and forth, John defending his life dream and interests, and Patrick berating his son for his choices. For not applying to Harvard. For choosing the wrong university. For disrespecting him. For wasting his life before it had even properly begun. For bringing potential shame to the family name. For being a coward and trying to run away. Patrick's arguments got more and more vehement and off-kilter, but John's rebellious nature prevented him from acquiescing to any of it. His reactions got more intense, and their voices got louder and louder until it was abruptly ended. John's's cheek stung, his entire body stiffened from the shock, and despite his best efforts not to show any weakness, he was left blinking away tears.

There was a tense silence as Patrick looked at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. His father's voice was low and dangerous, "You're not my son." John didn't hear the despair in Patrick's voice, nor did he see the wetness in the older man's eyes. He only heard the words and fled back to his room. His gaze landed on the unfinished SR-71 Blackbird sitting on his desk. Immediately the hurt was replaced by burning anger, and John roughly started tossing things into a bag. Clothes enough to last several days, all the cash he had, an unframed picture of his mom and little brother, and other things he knew he'd need to survive.

"John?" He stopped his packing to look back at Dave standing in the doorway with fear-filled eyes, "Where are you going?"  
John swallowed and continued packing, "I'm leaving, Dave. I can't stay here anymore."  
"What? But… but, you can't leave!"  
"Yes, I can, David."

John zipped the bag up and grabbed his jacket and made to leave, but Dave wrapped his arms around his waist. John noticed his little brother was crying, "Don't leave, Johnny, please don't leave."

Years later, John would wonder why he reacted like he did. Why he turned his anger for their father on Dave. He was innocent, but John… he was too angry to care. John pushed Dave off him, and the little boy fell to the ground, "Go be Dad's favorite son, Dave. You don't have a brother anymore."

John nearly sprinted down the steps and out the door. He barely heard his mom call his name, he just ran as fast as his feet and emotions could carry him. He spent the next three weeks making his way to California by whatever means he could - walking, train, bus, hitchhiking. During those weeks, he tried not to think of the look on his brother's face, or the fear and confusion in his mother's voice as she called out to him.

He couldn't go back.  
Not now.

So, he went forwards instead. Forward and westward, to California and his future. _His_ future. To Stanford and ROTC and the Air Force, who welcomed his interest and intelligence with far wider arms than his father ever had. And as he completed year after year of university, he became less and less John Sheppard, son of Patrick Sheppard, CEO of Minson Utilities and more… _himself._

He was just John Sheppard now.

 _-fin_


End file.
